


its the most awful time of the year

by always_an_anxious_mess



Category: Minecraft - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Drinking, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Foster Care, I’m trying to tag properly for the first time and I’m failing miserably, No Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, That’s weirdchamp, Tommy is Bad at Feelings, Tommy’s been through some shit in this, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_an_anxious_mess/pseuds/always_an_anxious_mess
Summary: Tommy hated Christmas. Hated the cold. Hated how the world expected him to be “cheerful” when the world hadn’t done much good for him in the first place.So when he found himself in his social worker’s car, with aching ribs, a week before Christmas, he expected this year to be just like all the rest. Shitty.His new fosters seemed way too determined to change his mind.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), shippers dni - Relationship
Comments: 180
Kudos: 1652





	1. Chapter 1

Tommy fucking hated Christmas.

He hated the cold. He hated the snow. He hated how everyone expected him to be happy. He hated the festivities. He just hated Christmas.

Tommy hadn’t met a single foster kid who actually enjoyed the Christmas season, so it was refreshing he wasn’t the only one in the world.

Fighting over presents that’d be stolen in a week or two was exhausting. Eating a lackluster meal made by whoever he was stuck with that year was exhausting. Wrapping up in ratty blankets and layering on too-small, holed jackets was exhausting.

Tommy ran cold. He was never ever warm, even in the summers when it’d be boiling, his hands and feet would be ice cold and the slightest breeze made him shiver.

He’d always been skinny, not a lot of meat on him. That’s why he was always cold, at least that’s what he thought was it. If he ever put on weight instead of putting on inches of height, maybe he’d finally be fucking warm.

But no. Life just wasn’t fair like that.

Tommy was a “problem child”. He picked fights, he stole, he was rude, he taunted and cursed and was everything that foster parents hated having to deal with. He was everything social workers hated having to deal with.

He didn’t blame them, he hated having to deal with himself too.

Tommy hated Christmas, he hated the fucked up foster system, and he hated himself.

And now he found himself sitting in the passenger seat of a car, a black trash bag with all of his belongings placed in his lap, shivering as two adults talked outside, the week before Christmas.

His social worker, Noah or Nathan or something like that, was outside talking to his next foster parent. It’d been an emergency call, as Tommy had to be pulled from the Connors’ earlier that night.

What sucked was Tommy actually LIKED the Connors. They were like him. Brash and rude and apathetic towards everyone but themselves. Sure, they were just another family using him for the stimulus check, but the Connors always made sure food was on the table and there were clothes on his back. Whether the food was edible and if the clothes were rags didn’t matter.

Well, guess it wasn’t all good at the Connors’ after all. Since he was now sitting in a fucking car with aching ribs and bruised knuckles and it was freezing, even with the heater on.

Tommy didn’t know who this new guy was, just that he’d fostered “problem children” before and “had experience with misguided kids”. His social worker was always spouting off bullshit like that.

Tommy wasn’t a “problem child”, he was a kid who’d gotten fucked over by the system, by life. That wasn’t saying he didn’t admit that his criminal record was his fault. He made those decisions after all.

A sharp rapping on the window of the passenger side door drew Tommy’s attention. He’d been watching the snow fall through the windshield, so he hadn’t seen anyone approach.

Tommy sighed, opening the car door and climbing out, lugging his trash bag full of his belongings as he stepped out into the cold.

He immediately started shivering, huddling into his old ratty hoodie as snow fell around him.

“Tommy, this is Phil,” Noah/Nathan said with a smile, gesturing towards a blonde guy who looked rather... young... to be a foster parent. “You’re going to be staying with him now.” The desperation was evident in Noah/Nathan’s voice. Tommy wasn’t dumb, he knew that his social worker hated dealing with him. The feeling was mutual.

“‘Kay,” Tommy mumbled, pulling his trash bag closer to himself. He didn’t feel like fighting him right now. That’d probably change later, when Tommy inevitably got kicked out of this house too.

So here he was, getting in the passenger seat of some stranger’s car. It was warm inside. Thank fucking god it was warm inside.

Tommy really didn’t notice when they started driving off. He was silently worried if he just got picked up by some weird guy and he was about to be never heard from again. Well, no one had been hearing him before, so he supposed it didn’t matter too much.

They drove in silence for a while, with Tommy glaring out the window and guarding his belongings with his legs. His hands were in his hoodie pocket, aching from the bruises and from the cold, fiddling with the small pocket knife he’d picked up a few months ago when he first arrived at the Connors’. He hadn’t been able to use it when the shit got kicked out of him, with it being hidden in his room. Now, he vowed for it to never leave his side. No more getting kicked around. Tommy was fifteen and already 6’1, and still growing. No one was gonna touch him ever again.

“So,” Phil said, breaking the silence. “How are your ribs? Nathaniel explained what happened with your last fosters.”

Tommy stayed quiet, not even turning to acknowledge that he’d heard the man.

Phil continued as if Tommy had actually responded.

“A bit of information about me, since I don’t know how much you’ve even told,” Phil hummed. “I’ve got two sons, twins. They were fosters too. I adopted them... about a year and a half ago, when they were about your age. They’re both seventeen now, and they’re seniors at the same high school you’ll be going to. The school’s in finals week now, so I’ll just register you for next semester instead of dealing with that shit. Especially since tomorrow’s their last day.”

Tommy startled slightly, glancing over at the man. He didn’t really seem like the type to curse, especially around kids, so he was frankly stunned. Tommy was used to cursing, of course. The Connors cursed all the damn time, as did Tommy and several of his foster parents before that. He just really wasn’t expecting it to be said so casually from this guy.

Phil caught his eye and chuckled. “So, do you want me to call you Thomas? Or something else?”

Tommy shifted, looking away. “Tommy.”

“Well, I’m Phil, as you know,” Phil offered. “Wilbur and Techno are my boys. You’ll probably meet them in the morning, as it’s quite late. They’re both probably awake, but I’d rather you meet them when they aren’t grouchy because they’re sleep deprived.”

Tommy shuffled, his fingers clasping the knife tighter in his pocket. The blade was still sheathed, it was just a comfort, knowing it was there.

“I’ll let you rest and adjust tomorrow while the twins are at school,” Phil offered, and Tommy could see they had turned into the driveway of a house. A nice house. Tommy wasn’t the type of kid that went to nice houses, and he was immediately put on edge. “Then we’ll go and get you some proper winter clothes. You must be fucking freezing, mate. Anything else you need too we can get tomorrow.”

Tommy was suspicious of this guy now. His house was too nice. He was being too nice. Tommy was not going to let go of his goddamn knife for a second.

Was it really only hours ago that he was curled up on the floor, feeling boots slamming into ribs? He’d at least broken one of those fucker’s noses, and he was pretty sure that he had kicked one of them in the balls. Good.

He’d thrown plenty of punches, though he wasn’t exactly sure how many had connected. His hand still hurt from when he’d broken that guy’s nose, Tommy was slightly worried he’d seriously fucked up his knuckles. He hadn’t been to a hospital or anything, just given a quick once-over on his ribs and whisked away to go meet his new placement.

“-mmy?”

Tommy jumped, blinking rapidly as he became more aware of his surroundings again. His grip tightened on his knife, and his finger kept running over the catch. He was trembling, but not from the cold.

Fuck. He did it again.

“Lost you there for a moment mate,” Phil patted the back of Tommy’s seat, being careful not to touch him. “You alright?”

Tommy didn’t answer, swallowing and rolling his shoulders to get the tension out of them.

“Well, we’re here,” Phil withdrew his hand from Tommy’s seat and gestured to the house in front of them. They were still parked in the driveway of a house that was much too nice for someone like Tommy. How long had they been here? “Do you want me to help you with your stuff?”

Tommy shook his head wordlessly, taking his hands out of his hoodie pocket (reluctantly letting go of his knife) and scrambling out of the car once the cold air rushed in.

Despite his reservations about going into the house (it was way too nice for someone like him), he briskly followed Phil up the porch and inside because it was REALLY fucking cold.

The house was warm, thankfully. Tommy nearly sighed with relief once he stepped inside.

He could hear guitar music coming from upstairs that would randomly pause and start. There was a Christmas tree shoved into the corner by the fireplace was was haphazardly decorated. There were pictures on the wall of Phil and two boys around thirteen, looking practically identical to one another.

It was so domestic, and Tommy hated it.

“Are you sure you’re alright? At least physically?” Phil asked. “I know they don’t really check you for injuries when they pull you out in an emergency if you can walk. How are your ribs? Do your hands hurt? Anything?”

Tommy looked away. He didn’t know this guy. He didn’t want this guy touching him. His ribs hurt, his hands hurt. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget about it all, wake up in the Connors’ house like nothing had ever happened.

Phil sighed. “At least let me check your ribs in the morning?”

Tommy shrugged noncommittally, still not comfortable with that idea. He didn’t want anyone touching him. For the foreseeable future.

“Alright,” Phil gave him a clearly forced smile. “I can show you to your room, if you want? I had Techno put the sheets on when I got the call, but other than the furniture the room’s practically empty. We can get some decorations for it soon, how does that sound?”

Tommy didn’t answer, just following Phil up a nearby staircase and down a short hallway. The guitar music was playing softly from one of the rooms they passed, but it stopped when Phil kicked the bottom of the door as they walked by it. The door rattled against the doorframe loudly, and Tommy thought he could hear a quiet “sorry” afterwards.

“I’ll get him to play in the basement so he doesn’t keep you up,” Phil caught Tommy’s slightly startled look as they stopped at a door. “Anyways, there’s a lock on this. I have a key, but it’ll only be used for emergencies. Techno and Wilbur don’t know where it is, so they won’t be able to get in. You can lock the door whenever you want, no big deal.”

Phil pushed open the door and inside was a relatively small room. A bed was shoved into one corner, a dresser in another, a desk in the third. The window had blackout curtains drawn over them. The bed was made, and a few spare blankets were folded at the foot of it.

“Get some rest,” Phil smiled at him, this one seeming less forced as Tommy took in the room. “I’ll see you in the morning. Techno and Wilbur will probably be gone by the time you wake up, but I work from home, so I’ll still be here.”

Tommy didn’t acknowledge him, just staring at him for a moment as Phil left, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as the door shut, Tommy stumbled forward and locked it, some of the tension he’d been carrying lessening ever so slightly. He dropped his bag on the ground and only peeled off his hoodie and shoes before climbing into the bed.

The extra blankets that had been laid out were thick and warm, and Tommy immediately burrowed into them, clutching the fabric tightly.

His ribs pulsed and his hands throbbed, and sleep didn’t come easy. But eventually, it did.


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy woke up, and for a startling few seconds, he had no idea where he was. The room he was in was dark, and he immediately flailed around, getting tangled in the sheets and falling out of the bed he was in.

It took him several attempts to free himself, and once he did he scrambled up, hands somehow finding his hoodie and pulling out his knife.

He calmed as soon as it was in his hand. Not completely, of course, since he was still having trouble remembering where he was, but it helped settle him down somewhat.

That’s when everything came back.

The pain flaring in his ribs, shoes slamming into his torso, throwing punches, and screaming. Then, being cold, a new face, a warm house. Stupid fucking Christmas decorations.

Phil. Phil. Phil. He’s his new placement. Right.

Tommy took a deep breath and pulled on his hoodie, wincing at the pain flaring in his ribs as he did so, before stuffing his knife back into his pocket.

He fumbled around for a light switch, eventually finding it and turning it on. He could hear muffled voices coming from what was probably downstairs, so he figured it was safe to sneak away to the bathroom he’d seen the night before.

Tommy poked his head out the door after unlocking it, finding the hallway empty. There was a light on underneath one of the closed doors, but it wasn’t the bathroom, so he assumed this would be fine.

Once he figured out the coast was clear, he darted out from his room and into the bathroom across the hall. Once he was inside, he closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a clock on the wall in the bathroom, reading 6:23 am. It was way too fucking early to be awake, but he couldn’t change that now.

Tommy faced the mirror, pulling up his hoodie and shirt to inspect his chest.

Dark blue-purple blotches that looked awful lot like footprints littered his torso, and unsurprisingly sang with protest when he touched them. His ribs didn’t feel broken, but they sure hurt a fuck ton. He probably bruised them at the least. They’d be inconvenient, but he’d manage.

“Oh, uh, my bad.”

Tommy jumped and nearly started throwing punches, turning and backing into the counter as he let his hoodie and shirt fall back. His hand fumbled for his knife, but he couldn’t seem to latch onto it.

A guy with long, pink (pink? Really?) hair stood in the doorway seeming very awkward. He had glasses on, and was taller than Tommy by a couple of inches maybe. He also looked like the kind of guy who could snap Tommy’s neck without even thinking about it.

“The uh, the lock doesn’t work in this bathroom,” the guy took a step back. “I thought you were just Wilbur.”

Tommy stared at him like a deer in headlights, not responding.

“Do you want some ice, or something?” The guy asked. “For your ribs. They gotta hurt.”

Tommy didn’t answer. The guy was right, his ribs hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Why are you just standing there?” Someone from behind the the other guy complained. “Some of us gotta piss.”

The pink haired guy turned and elbowed the other one in the ribs, allowing the other guy to see Tommy standing there staring at them.

“Whoops,” the other guy said. He was tall, taller than the one with pink hair by another inch or two. He also had glasses, and wore a bright yellow turtleneck that hurt Tommy’s eyes. “I’ll wait for Phil to get out downstairs then.”

With that, Yellow left, and after a moment’s hesitation, Pink did too, shutting the door. He assumed these were the twins that Phil had mentioned, but they looked nothing alike. The kids in the pictures looked practically identical, but these two didn’t. Maybe the hair was throwing him off.

Tommy sighed, shaking off the thought and examining his hands. His right hand had some of the skin split, and bruises littered his knuckles. His wrist was swollen slightly, and it hurt when he touched it.

His left hand seemed alright, just bruised.

Tommy used the bathroom and poked his head out the door when he was done, checking to see if the coast was clear. Nobody seemed around, so he darted back into the room he’d slept in, shutting and locking the door behind him.

There was something wrapped in a towel on the bed he’d slept on, and when he picked it up, it was cold. Peeling back the towel revealed a bag of frozen peas. It hadn’t been there for long, as it hadn’t started melting in the slightest.

Huh.

Though Tommy hated the cold, he knew that it would help, so he laid back onto his bed and pressed the towel wrapped bag of frozen peas against his throbbing ribs with a sigh.

He slowly felt his chest go numb, which was better than the pain. He held it with his hurt hand, which numbed some of the pain from it as well. Two birds with one stone, if you would.

He listened to the people talking downstairs, unmoving even as heard the front door open and then shut.

The house was silent after that.

Tommy wasn’t sure how he felt about being in a silent house. All of his previous placements were never quiet, something was always happening. Whether that something be someone screaming at one another or the tv playing too loud. The places he’d been were never silent.

Footsteps sounded nearby, catching Tommy’s attention. They paused at the door to the room he was in, and then three soft knocks rapped on the wood.

“Tommy? Are you still awake?” Phil asked quietly from the other side.

He held his breath, not wanting to make a noise and give himself away. He wasn’t in the mood to be talking right now, so best to pretend to be asleep and hope he actually falls asleep later.

Cold water was drenching his hand, and Tommy was fucking freezing, but he didn’t dare move.

He heard footsteps again, this time fading away, and once he couldn’t hear them anymore he breathed a sigh of relief. Tommy placed the now mostly thawed bag of peas on the ground and just lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing for sleep he knew wouldn’t come.

———

It apparently had come, it seemed, as Tommy forcibly peeled his eyes open to sun streaming in through the window because he hadn’t closed the curtains.

His chest and hand were no longer numb, and sitting up caused them to screech in protest. Tommy just gritted his teeth and ignored it, forcing himself out of bed and to his feet.

His stomach growling told him that it was well past breakfast, and a quick glance out the window revealed it to be late morning/noon-ish.

Tommy rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension in them, wincing slightly at his ribs, before grabbing the now completely thawed bag of peas and unlocking his door.

He poked his head out the partially open door, glancing around nervously. No one was around, and the house seemed to be silent.

Tommy moved quickly and quietly down the stairs, flinching at every creak the floor made beneath his feet, leaving the bedroom door open in his haste to get moving before anyone could spot him. Old habits die hard, it seemed. He didn’t know anything about Phil or his sons, and they didn’t seem like the type of people to punch him in the stomach if they caught him outside of his room without permission, but you never know.

His feet carried him into the kitchen, clutching at the bag of peas. He made his way to the fridge and stuffed the bag back in the freezer.

He was silently wondering if he’d be allowed to take food when he heard a key slide into the front door’s lock.

Tommy’s good hand immediately went into his hoodie pocket, only to find that his knife was not there. He cursed, realizing it must have fallen out in his sleep and was probably in the bed somewhere.

He was judging whether he could bolt for the stairs and make it to his room in time when he realized that Yellow and Pink were inside the house now, and staring at him.

“This has got to be the weirdest way we’ve ever met new fosters,” Yellow announced, dropping his keys in some kind of bowl on a table by the front door. “First time you’re just standing in the bathroom, staring at us. Second time you’re just standing in the kitchen, staring at us.”

Pink rolled his eyes and slapped Yellow on the shoulder. Yellow yelped, turning around to face Pink with an annoyed expression, that faded after he saw the look Pink was giving him.

“You meet new fosters a lot?” Tommy asked dryly. If Phil had a high turnover rate, all the better. Faster he can get out of here, the too-nice house with the too-nice Phil, the better.

“He speaks!” Yellow clapped his hands together, and Tommy flinched, but Yellow seemed to not notice. Pink did, unfortunately. “And no. Before we came to live with Phil, yeah, but we haven’t seen any new ones since then.”

“Stop fuckin’ freaking him out, Wilbur,” Pink grunted, elbowing “Wilbur” in the side and heading for the stairs. “I’m getting Phil.”

Tommy absolutely did not want to be left here with Yellow/Wilbur, but he bet that he could take Wilbur if he started something, even if the guy had about four inches on him. Pink was a much different matter. Tommy was pretty sure he’d die if Pink decided to attack him, whether Tommy had his knife or not.

“Anyway,” Wilbur gave him a grin as he dropped his backpack on the ground in front of the front door. “I’m Will, Techno’s the guy pretending to be an anime protagonist, and Phil’s our dad. Welcome to the gang.”

“Techno?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me. What kind of name is that?”

Wilbur shrugged, pulling out his phone and leaning against the wall as he looked down at it. “Phil didn’t tell us much about you,” he said casually. “Just that you were pulled out in an emergency and your social worker needed a last-minute placement. Techno said you were pretty fucked up from what he saw. Your hand looks like shit too.”

Tommy scowled, tucking his hurt hand into his hoodie pocket. “You look like shit, dickhead,” he retorted.

“I never do, you’re factually incorrect,” Wilbur hummed without looking up. “I look great, so you’re wrong.”

Tommy bristled. Oh yeah, his time with these guys was going to be hell, especially if this asshole was going to act like THAT.

“Tommy? I didn’t know you were awake,” Phil was coming down the stairs now, Pink/Techno following behind him looking bored. “How are your ribs?”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. Techno gave a cough. It was clearly some kind of signal, because Phil tilted his head at Tommy with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you sure?” Phil asked, in that disappointed parent voice Tommy had heard so much and was so tired of hearing.

“‘ts fine,” he shrugged. “They’re bruised, I’ll live.”

“Your hand?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy snapped. “Look big man, I know you’re trying to help and all, but we met last night. I’m sure as hell not letting you touch me.”

They stared each other for a solid few seconds, Tommy’s glare unwavering in the face of Phil’s Fatherly Stare. He’d seen it before, when other people tried to get him to do what they want. He was immune to these things.

“If I don’t touch, will you at least let me see your hand?” Phil said after a few moments of silence.

Tommy paused, considering, before grunting in wordless agreement and pulling his hand out of his hoodie pocket, holding it up in front of his chest.

Phil reached forward, but Tommy shot him a warning look, and the man stopped.

“How well can you move it?” Phil asked.

“It’s not broken,” Tommy rotated his wrist and drew in a sharp breath between his teeth.

He didn’t notice when Techno stepped forward, but he did notice when he grabbed Tommy’s hand and pulled it close to his face, examining his knuckles.

Panic flooded through Tommy, but his instinctual fear of getting his ass kicked by Techno overruled his instinct to start throwing punches. His left hand weakly thumped into Techno’s chest, but the other guy didn’t even flinch.

“You didn’t break your hand,” Techno observed, seemingly not noticing how much Tommy was struggling. “But you got pretty damn close. Where’d you hit them?”

“Let me go,” Tommy tried to snarl, but it sounded weak and hoarse.

“Techno,” Phil said warningly.

Techno immediately let go of Tommy’s hand. “Where’d you hit them?” He repeated. “You must’ve landed a few good punches, if you managed to keep from breaking your fist. Plus, you don’t seem like the kid to lay down and let them kick you in the ribs over and over, at least not without a fight first.”

Tommy hesitated, taking a few steps back to calm himself down. A feral grin wormed its way onto his face as he remembered the crack of something giving way beneath his fist.

“Broke his nose,” he knew he shouldn’t feel proud of it, but damn if that asshole hadn’t deserved it. They didn’t seem to be judging him for grinning like a maniac at the thought. His left hand reached up and tapped the bridge of his nose just below his eyes, signifying where he’d hit the guy. “Fucker deserved it. Kicked the other guy in the balls too. He didn’t get up again. Didn’t get to do much after that, but I still swung.”

The three of them stared at him. Techno impassively, Phil seemed unfazed, and Wilbur was- Wilbur was grinning like a madman too.

“Oh yeah,” Wilbur snickered, trying to hide his smile that was all teeth behind his hand. “You’ll fit right in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caffeine is weird is this what it feels like because coffee normally doesn’t make me feel like this what


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m doing what?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re coming with us to a Christmas party,” Wilbur said. “‘Cause Phil doesn’t want to you to be alone, and he has to go into the office today. Have you ever heard of a White Elephant?”

It’d been a few days since Tommy had came to live with Phil and his increasingly strange sons. Wilbur played guitar into late hours of the night. Tommy was pretty sure he hadn’t caught Techno sleeping once. Every time he passed Techno’s room, the light was on.

Everyone had kind of skirted around their conversation in the kitchen, where Tommy had practically admitted that he was happy he’d hurt someone, and where the other three had seemed unfazed at it.

They hadn’t asked about his ribs or hand again either, though that night Tommy had found a roll of compression bandages, an ice pack, and what seemed to be a wrist brace laying on his pillow. No note.

Even though he hated being pitied, Tommy used the items anyway. He didn’t miss the pleased look Phil had on his face when he saw him wearing the wrist brace, or the approving nods that Wilbur and Techno sent his way.

Somehow, he’d slipped right into the dynamic of these three without even meaning to. Wilbur pissed him off, but their banter was more lighthearted than anything. Techno didn’t talk much, so Tommy found himself drawn to him more often than not, relishing in the silence Techno provided. Phil was like the halfway point between them both, teasing yet quiet, comforting yet energizing.

Tommy didn’t like how his guard fell so easily around them, when he’d only known them for three days. He still didn’t let them touch him, obviously. But unlike with his previous foster homes, Tommy’s insults and curses held no real weight behind them.

“White Elephant?” Tommy raised an eyebrow at Wilbur. “Isn’t that the Secret Santa shit?”

“Similar,” Wilbur shrugged. “We can grab something extra for you to put in, if you want to be in the rotation.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means your coming,” Techno rolled his eyes. “Get in the car already.”

“I don’t even know what we’re doing, so no.”

Techno and Wilbur shared a glance with each other, and then before Tommy could react, he was being dragged outside, a pair of hands around each of his arms.

His brain froze for a moment, before going into panic mode.

He couldn’t breathe. People were touching him, dragging him. He was going to die. He was going to die. Hewasgoingtodiehewasgoingtodiehewasgoingtodie—!

He couldn’t scream, though he wanted to. His whole body jerked violently, though, hard enough for whoever was holding onto him to let go. He needed to get away. Heneededtogetaway—!

He landed on his knees in the snow. When had he gotten outside? Wasn’t he in the kitchen just a moment ago? He didn’t know. His mind was shrieking, his thoughts almost a chorus of voices screaming at him to run. To get away. Fight back if he needed to but most importantly get away-!

But despite this, he just hunched in on himself, ignoring protests from his ribs and clamping his hands over his ears.

Fight. Flight. Freeze. His instincts told him to fight. His mind told him to run. His body froze instead.

His breathing was fucked up, each individual breath coming in like a loud, choked gasp. It was better than nothing.

Tommy wasn’t thinking straight, he knew. The rational part of him was trying to calm down the rest of him. If Techno and Wilbur hadn’t hurt him yet, maybe they wouldn’t? They must’ve not known. They couldn’t have known. Even Tommy hadn’t known that he’d react this way.

He’d been in more than a dozen foster homes. It honestly might have been closer to two dozen, maybe more, since he was put into the system at eleven years old. As he’d grown older, presenting as a “problem child”, those foster homes revealed themselves to be more and more abusive.

He’d been hurt before by the people he was supposed to trust. He’d been kicked around before, beaten bloody before. That wasn’t new to him. But why now? Why only now was he freaking out?

The Connors’ weren’t special. They’d hurt him just like everyone else.

Why was he freaking out over being dragged around?

Memories, memories of that night, kept flooding into his head. Glimpses of hands pulling him around the house by his hair, throwing him into a wall.

No. No. Fuck no. Fuck this. Fuck you.

Tommy managed to crawl his way back into calming down, though it took a few minutes. His breathing became more normal, his heart rate calmed down, and he became aware of just how fucking cold he was after essentially just sitting in the snow for several minutes.

Tommy stood up, keeping his back to Wilbur and Techno in fear of what he’d find if he turned around. His left hand slipped into the pocket his knife was in, absentmindedly fiddling with the catch in an effort to calm down.

His mind flicked to the feeling of that fucker’s nose giving way beneath his fist, and the recollection calmed him more than the knife did.

Why the fuck was he like this? Why couldn’t he be normal?

Normal people don’t feel good about hurting others. Normal people don’t collapse just because they start getting dragged around.

“I’ll get in the car,” Tommy rasped, still with his back facing Wilbur and Techno. “But I would like to state this is kidnapping.”

A beat of silence. And then...

“It technically isn’t if you get in the car willingly without us threatening you or someone you care about,” Techno pointed out dryly.

“Jokes on you, I don’t got anyone I care about,” Tommy retorted, finally turning around and facing the twins. “If you’re gonna kidnap me, at least give me the front seat.”

“Nuh uh, tallest people in the front,” Wilbur scoffed, jerking his thumb to the backseat of the car. “You’re too short to make the cut, kid. Suffer.”

“I’m 6’1,” Tommy protested.

“6’3,” Wilbur pointed at Techno. “6’5,” he pointed at himself. “Get in the back.”

“This is a kidnapping,” Tommy complained, but did shove himself into the backseat of the car.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Techno drawled, sliding into the passenger seat as Wilbur climbed into the driver’s side.

The drive was mostly silent, save for Tommy’s screeching because Wilbur drove like a fucking madman. Wilbur just seemed annoyed at Tommy’s reaction, but Techno was, surprisingly, laughing.

Though, despite this, Tommy had noticed Techno texting Phil about what had happened. There was tension in the air, predominately from Wilbur and Techno.

They were treating him as if he was fragile. Tommy was NOT fragile. He wasn’t.

Getting to a grocery store didn’t take very long, consider Wilbur driver like he was trying to kill them. When Wilbur and Techno got out, Tommy cut his losses and followed them, figuring it’d be easier than trying to fight them.

He kept his distance, keeping his hands in his pockets and following Techno and Wilbur as they argued over what to buy for this White Elephant thing. His eyes scanned the store, bored.

A display of lighters caught his eye, and his fingers twitched slightly. He glanced between Techno and Wilbur and the case.

Tommy wondered if he could get away with it.

So, when he knew they both weren’t looking, he took one. One with bright red casing. He stuffed it into his hoodie pocket with his knife.

He acted exactly the same as he had before grabbing the lighter. Both Techno and Wilbur didn’t notice, still bickering over a thermos of some kind, it seemed. They were getting louder about it too. Well, Wilbur was getting louder, Techno was just getting more stern.

Tommy rolled his eyes, shoved himself between the both of them, grabbed the thermos they’d been arguing about, and speed-walked to the checkout. Wilbur immediately started to protest, but Tommy just kept walking.

Techno paid for it once they reached the checkout line, shooting Wilbur a smirk in victory. Tommy didn’t care one way or the next, it was just a damn cup.

“It’s fuckin’ ugly,” Wilbur grumbled as they walked out to the car once more. Tommy let out a soft breath of relief as they left the building with the lighter still in his pocket.

“You aren’t the one that’s getting it,” a long suffering Techno replied monotonously.

“It’s an embarrassment to bring that to a White Elephant!” Wilbur protested.

“No one’s going to know WE brought it!” Techno snapped.

Tommy just watched the situation unfold as he got into the backseat once more, a smirk on his face.

Wilbur sighed in annoyance, and Tommy yelped as Wilbur chucked the bag containing the metal thermos at him from the front seat, starting the car.

“Put it in a paper bag or some shit,” Wilbur said grumpily.

“What paper bag?”

“There should be a small one by your feet,” Techno explained, sounding bored as the car lurched forward. Tommy hastily buckled his seatbelt before Wilbur’s driving sent him through the window.

Tommy glanced down at his feet and indeed saw a brown paper bag on the floor. He grabbed it and stuffed the weird thermos thing into the bag with a sigh.

“What the fuck is a White Elephant anyway?” He asked, staring out the window. He didn’t have anything better to do, its not like he had a phone to look at to pass the time like Techno did.

“You buy a gift if you want a gift,” Techno said as if it explained everything. This only made Tommy more confused.

Wilbur must have seen his puzzled look, because he clarified. “You buy something and wrap it in order to be put in the rotation. You put all the presents in a big pile and everybody draws a paper slip with a number on it. The number determines the order you pick presents in. Once you pick a present, you unwrap it obviously, and you get to chose whether you want to keep what you got, or you want to steal someone else’s present as long as they’ve gone before you did. Someone who goes after you can also steal your present too.”

“Pog,” Tommy mumbled, even though he was still slightly confused.

“What’s “pog”?” Wilbur asked incredulously. “I feel like you’ve just insulted me in some way.”

Tommy snorted. “It means cool or awesome, dickhead. Pogchamp. Poggers. Pog. Whatever. It’s a habit from the group home I was in a couple years back. Never shook it, I guess.”

“The only way to get out of a group home is to get kicked out, so how’d you get kicked out?” Techno sounded amused.

“Stabbed someone,” Tommy answered honestly.

Wilbur slammed on the brakes, and if Tommy wasn’t wearing his seatbelt, he would’ve flown straight into Techno’s seat and probably broken his nose.

Tommy immediately opened his mouth to backtrack, to say it was a joke (even though it wasn’t), but then he realized Wilbur hadn’t slammed on the breaks because of HIM. He’d slammed on the breaks because he was a shit driver.

“Shit!” Wilbur shouted, as they’d just missed the yellow light and were now stuck on red. “We’re gonna be late now.”

Tommy opened and closed his mouth, frankly stunned at the fact they were just glossing over the fact he STABBED someone and he was currently in their car with a knife while in stabbing range. Well, they didn’t know he had a knife, but that still didn’t explain why they didn’t even look concerned.

Techno glanced back at him with an amused smirk. “Well? Did the kid deserve it?”

Tommy blinked at him, and then blinked again. The incident came to his mind as he remembered the knife going in. Remembered all that man had done to him and the other boys he was supposed to be taking care of.

He shivered. Both at the fact that stabbing that disgusting bastard was a good memory and the memories he had desperately tried to repress of the man himself.

“Yeah,” Tommy said quietly, angrily, sinking back into his seat and staring out the window listlessly. “Yeah that- that- that fucker deserved it.”

He tried to ignore the way his voice cracked. Wilbur and Techno didn’t mention it. The car lurched forward again, and they were off once more.

Tommy lost himself to the blurry motion out the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't feel like fucking with the formatting. merry crisis :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING**
> 
> **This chapter contains recreational drug use and mentions of alcohol, stay safe!**

Why the fuck did he agree to come here again?

Right, he was kidnapped.

That’s what Tommy was asking himself as he stood awkwardly by the front door of the house Techno and Wilbur had taken him to.

They had knocked, and some dude wearing a lime green hoodie answered the door and immediately seemed to whisk them both away. So Tommy was left alone, standing just inside the entrance as he held the sad little brown paper bag that contained the ugly thermos.

Techno was off talking to Hoodie. Wilbur was in what seemed to be an affectionate shouting match with a redhead he repeatedly called a furry, much to the redhead’s chagrin. And Tommy knew literally no one else in the house.

They were both within eyesight and earshot, but there was a fairly aggressive form of jingle bells playing from a nearby speaker, loud enough that Tommy could barely even hear himself think. There was no way that his shout would reach either of them.

Tommy had been invited to two parties that he could remember. Both of which led to situations like this one. He knew normal people would just pull out their phone to pass the time, but he didn’t exactly have a phone. No foster family wanted to spend that much money on a problem child, and he had never had the balls to steal one.

Thankfully, those other two parties had something to entertain him, typically weed or something. They would have booze too, but Tommy didn’t like drinking. (His mother used to drink, her drinking was what led to why he was in foster care in the first place. Alcohol was a rather bad memory for him. He rather not turn out like that bitch, so he didn’t drink).

This party didn’t seem like the place he could find weed just because he was bored. These didn’t really seem like the people to ask for it, either.

“You’re new.”

Tommy’s gaze shifted to the side, where a tall dude with awful facial hair was now standing, having to practically shout to be heard over the music. He had a Yankee cap pulled on, and his accent was American like Techno’s and the hoodie guy’s was. He smelled like weed.

Aha.

“Yeah,” Tommy shrugged.

“Wilbur and Techno ditch you?” Yankee asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning up against the wall.

“Yeah.”

“Sucks,” Yankee shrugged, thumbing for something in his pocket before pulling it out. It wasn’t a joint, just a cigarette. “You want one?”

“Depends on whatcha got.”

“Marlboro.”

“Trash,” Tommy made a face of disgust. “No Newports? Or Mavericks?”

“Your taste is shit,” Yankee made one right back, tucking the cigarette back into his pocket.

“Do you have a joint? I gotta have some fun at this party somehow.”

“Wilbur would kill me if he smelled weed on you,” Yankee winced. “Techno too, for that matter. I’m the only one with anything around here, so they’d know and I’d be dead before morning.”

“Damn,” Tommy sighed.

“There’s booze in the kitchen. They won’t fault you for drinking,” Yankee offered. “Everybody’s doing it. You’re gonna end up crashing here, I bet. Technoblade’s not a big drinker unless Dream challenges him, but Dream always challenges him at parties.”

“I’m not a big alcohol guy,” Tommy winced. He’d only ever gotten drunk ONCE, at a party at least, and that ended in disaster.

“Fair enough. Probably for the best, anyhow,” Yankee shrugged, pulling out his phone and sending a quick text to someone. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Definitely for the best, then. Freshmen are always lightweights, and Wilbur will absolutely murder you and Dream and probably me if he finds you drunk.”

Tommy was about to protest that he was NOT a lightweight (he knew this as a fact), when a short brown haired boy threw himself down the stairs and bolted across the house to stand in front of Yankee.

“What?” The boy asked, short enough to be twelve but was clearly in high school from the way he held himself. He was wearing a black hoodie with a little bee stitched on the front, right above his heart. Tommy instantly nicknamed him Bee.

“This is— uh, fuck I don’t know,” Yankee shrugged. “He’s Wilbur and Technoblade’s new brother, they ditched him.”

“Foster brother,” Tommy corrected, slightly confused on how Yankee even knew that.

“Whatever. Wilbur and Techno ditched him, and if he stays down here any longer he’s gonna get challenged to a drinking contest by Dream. Take him upstairs to hang out with you and the YinYang kid,” Yankee told Bee.

“He hates it when you call him that,” Bee rolled his eyes and grabbed Tommy’s wrist, tugging him forward as he walked back to the stairs, forcing Tommy to follow him.

In any other circumstance, Tommy would have yanked his hand away with a scowl and a threat. However, he found himself following Bee willingly, past the other party attendees who didn’t even blink at their presence.

He let himself be led up the stairs of the house, finding the upstairs completely bare of other people.

Okay, now it was getting a little weird.

It got even weirder as he was led to a room that had the door shut, and he was about to pull out his knife and stab this kid when Bee kicked the door open with a loud thud.

There was another kid, with red and green eyes and with half of his hair bleached into a near white color, sitting on a bed with a game controller in one hand and a phone with the other.

“What did Schlatt want?” the supposed YinYang said, raising an eyebrow at the boy who was still holding onto Tommy’s wrist.

“For me to grab this dude so Dream didn’t challenge him to a drinking contest,” Bee shrugged. “He’s hanging out with us.”

Tommy shifted slightly, uncomfortable. The grip on his arm wasn’t tight by any means, but it was starting to bug his injured wrist. He had taken off the brace because it was clunky and annoying, and he only had compression bandages wrapped around the injury. He kind of wished the boy couldn’t feel the bandages beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

“Who invited you?” YinYang asked him, not sounding rude, just curious.

“Oh, he’s Watson’s new foster,” the boy said nonchalantly before Tommy could answer, making Tommy blink and look over at him.

“The what?” Tommy asked.

“Watson. You know, Wilbur and Techno’s dad? I never remember his name,” the boy shrugged again. “You are the new foster, right? Wilbur wouldn’t shut up on Thursday about the kid who just stared at him in the bathroom when he went to go piss.”

“I— I didn’t—” Tommy spluttered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “That asshole barged in on ME. I wasn’t staring at him while he pissed, what the fuck?”

“Of course you didn’t,” the boy sounded puzzled.

“The way you phrased it made it sound like he was watching Wilbur piss, Tubbo,” YinYang shrugged. “Anyway, are you playing or not?”

“Playing what?”

“MarioKart.”

“I’ve never played.”

“Oh man, you’re going to hate us after this,” the boy, who Tommy assumed was name Tubbo, chuckled.

* * *

“STOP FUCKIN’ THROWING SHELLS AT ME, DICKHEAD!” Tommy screeched, elbowing Tubbo in the side as the shorter boy cackled.

“At least you’re not in last place,” Ranboo (YinYang) whined. A glance at the taller boy’s screen did indeed show that he was in last place, behind even the bots they were playing with.

“You picked up on this quite fast,” Tubbo hummed, turning into a drift and hitting a banana Ranboo had placed earlier. “GODDAMNIT!” The boy screeched as Tommy pulled ahead and crossed the finish line in the nick of time, just seconds before Tubbo.

“Making you my bitch in MarioKart the first time I’ve ever played,” Tommy threw a grin in Tubbo’s direction.

“Yeah, shut up,” the brunette shoved his shoulder, making him giggle.

Fuck, he giggled? When was the last time he did that? Probable no sense he was a kid, really young.

He wasn’t even aware that he hadn’t reached for his knife this whole time. This was the most relaxed he’d been in ages, and he hadn’t even smoked a joint or anything tonight.

“I just realized we don’t know you’re name,” Ranboo interjected, brows furrowed as he poked him in the shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Tommy.”

“Pogchamp,” Tubbo burst out, trying out the word Tommy had taught him and Ranboo around their second round of Mario Kart.

“Hey, you’re actually using it right this time!” Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, laughing.

“There you are, god.”

Tommy looked up, meeting the gaze of Wilbur, who stood in the doorway to the door.

“Hey Wilbur,” Tubbo hummed. “I stole your brother. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Foster brother,” Tommy corrected.

“Whatever,” Tubbo shrugged. “I’ve stolen him. I’ve declared him as my brother now. I’m keeping him.”

“Awww,” Ranboo teased, not looking up from his phone.

“I was wondering where you went,” Wilbur said, specifically to Tommy. “You didn’t even drop off the present.”

“I didn’t know where to put it, and you both ditched me as soon as I stepped in the door,” Tommy said, an accusatory tone in his voice.

“Whatever,” Wilbur rolled his eyes. “It’s present time. Do you want to participate, or no? We bought that ugly ass thermos so you could, so you better get your ass down here.”

“Ooo, present time,” Tubbo stood up and stretched. “Wilbur, you smell awful.”

Wilbur did indeed smell awful. He reeked of cigarette smoke, weed, and cheap booze. Tommy wrinkled his nose at the stench, pressing his sleeve up to his nose to block it out.

Wilbur picked at his shirt and sniffed, shrugging. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Is everyone drunk already?” Ranboo sighed.

“Niki’s still sober, so you have a ride, gangly boy,” Wilbur pointed a finger at him, before giggling slightly. “But yeah, everyone else? Can’t say. Dream and Techno got into a contest already. Techno won, obviously.”

“Of course he did,” Tubbo sighed. “Which means they’re both hammered.”

“It’s like, four in the afternoon, and everybody’s already drunk?” Tommy scoffed. “Buncha lightweights.”

“It’s almost six,” Ranboo corrected.

“What would you know about it, did you drink a lot in that group home of yours?” Wilbur snarked back.

Tommy bristled. “I don’t drink.”

“Pussy.”

Tommy’s eyes darkened, his hand automatically moving to his pocket and fingers wrapping around the handle of his switchblade.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Tubbo stepped between them, and something about the action made Tommy relax. He released his knife, but left his hand in his pocket. “It’s present time, this is a Christmas party for fuck’s sake.”

“He can’t take a joke,” Wilbur muttered. “Get downstairs and have a goddamn joint if you have to. Chill out.”

With that, Wilbur left, stumbling slightly as he went.

“Yeah, don’t take anything they give you,” Tubbo said wryly, glancing back at Tommy. “I can give you a vape, if you want, but any weed they have has probably already been mostly smoked and it’ll be disgusting.”

“How much you want for it?” Tommy asked.

“It’s free, just give back the vape pen later,” Tubbo rummaged through the drawers of nearby dresser. He soon produced a vape pen and tossed it at Tommy, followed by cartridge as well. Both of which the blonde caught. “Ranboo, you want anything?”

“I’ll sneak a beer when Niki isn’t looking,” Ranboo shrugged.

Tommy glanced at the cartridge he’d been given. Lemonade flavored, contained nicotine. No weed. Whatever, nicotine worked.

“You care if I hit it in here?” Tommy asked, glancing at at the brunette.

“Whole house stinks of weed and booze anyway, you can’t make it worse,” Tubbo raised an eyebrow at him, withdrawing another vape pen from a desk drawer and taking a drag from it, exhaling a puff of white smoke.

Tommy raised the vape to his lips and inhaled, feeling the familiar burn as smoke filled his lungs before leaving in a huff as he exhaled.

“Damn, it’s been a while,” Tommy chuckled, tucking the pen in his hoodie pocket.

“I want it back in the morning,” Tubbo said nonchalantly. “Let’s go before Dream starts screeching at us.”

“Good god, I wouldn’t be able to handle that,” Ranboo rolled his eyes, standing up for the first time since Tommy arrived. Tommy was very preturbed to find that this kid was taller than him, but then again, Tommy had no idea how old Ranboo was, so it might be justified.

Tommy followed the both of them downstairs, finding it slightly amusing that there was about a foot of height difference between Tubbo and Ranboo.

Downstairs smelled worse than before, and the music was still ear-bleedingly loud, but no one was inside. Tommy could hear loud laughter and the sound of glass breaking through the wall that led outside.

Sure enough, he was following both Ranboo and Tubbo out there.

Everyone was sitting in a big circle out in the grass, some with suspicious red cups and some with cigarettes or joints. There was huge fuckin’ stack in of wrapped presents in the middle of the circle, and Tubbo snatched the brown paper bag from Tommy’s hand and through it onto the pile, miraculously doing so without sending the thermos inside flying.

It was just then that Tommy realized exactly how big this backyard was.

The grassy clearing stretched away from the house for about a hundred feet before the tree line started, and the trees were fucking huge. There wasn’t a fence, there weren’t even any nearby houses.

Tommy could see Techno in the circle, his pink hair let down as he sat next to Hoodie from earlier. Hoodie had another guy practically sitting on him, snoring, but didn’t seem to mind or notice as he laughed at something with Techno.

Wilbur was half draped across three people’s laps. A girl with blonde hair that faded to pink, the red headed furry, and Yankee, with his head in Yankee’s lap and his feet in the girl’s.

“Is this a normal occurrence?” Tommy leaned down to ask Tubbo.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Tubbo sighed. “They’re all wasted.”

“Nope, Schlatt’s sober. Look at him,” Ranboo gestured towards Yankee, who held nothing but a cigarette. “I don’t even think he’s had weed.”

“Didn’t Wilbur say... what was the name.... Niki was sober too?” Tommy asked.

“You can’t trust drunk Wilbur,” Tubbo said wryly. “Ranboo, you’re better off crashing here for tonight, just in case.”

“Already planning on it.”

“Tommy!” Wilbur called cheerfully. “Sit! Sit! Present time!”

Tommy eyed the older boy with suspicion, only getting a sickeningly dopey grin in return.

“Wilbur’s an emotional drunk,” Ranboo leaned down to whisper towards Tommy. “Don’t be surprised when he flips on you.”

Tommy nodded, taking a seat on the grass in the circle, eyeing Wilbur warily, but he seemed to have forgotten that the teen was there, teasing the redhead about being a furry again.

“ALRIGHT!” Came a loud, excited voice, and Tommy glanced over to see Hoodie had stood up, now holding the boy that had been previously in his lap. “Present time!”


	5. Chapter 5

“I fucking hate this.”

Who’s idea was it to do this _outside_? It’s freezing, and Tommy is currently sitting in fucking snow surrounded by a bunch of drunk and high teenagers he either barely knows or doesn’t know at all. And all he’s gotten for it so far is a slip of paper with the number 22 scrawled on it.

“At least you got a low number,” Ranboo said wryly, holding a recently unwrapped gift of a cheesy snowman plush. He’d pulled a paper with the number 3 on it, seeming disappointed when he read the result but somewhat happy with the gift.

Tommy still didn’t know how the hell this thing was supposed to work, just that when his number was called, he was supposed to grab a present from the dwindling pile in the center of the circle.

This sucked.

He was freezing his ass off, still not having a proper coat for this kind of weather. His sneakers were properly soaked through at this point, making his toes numb, and his hands were stuffed into his pockets in a vain attempt to keep them from the same fate. His nose and cheeks burned, and he was pretty sure his teeth were audibly clacking together from how much they were chattering.

His old winter jacket, one he’d gotten a few years ago by a surprisingly sympathetic foster family, was not cutting it, even pulled over a t-shirt and warm hoodie. The jacket was much too small, considering he’d been twelve when it was given to him and he’d shot up at least half a foot since then, and it was falling apart at the seams.

Safe to say, Tommy was fucking freezing.

Man, he hated the cold. He hated every single bit of it, and this situation only fueled his hatred for low temperatures and winter in general even more. This whole White Elephant thing was stupid anyway, Christmas itself was a fucking joke. Why did he ever agree to come here in the first place?

He was about to slam his head into something, or punch something, if he didn’t get inside pretty soon.

“You alright man?” Tubbo asked after plopping back down next to Tommy, having selected a present from the pile and unwrapped it after his number was called. “You’re looking... not great.”

“Just peachy,” Tommy replied bitterly, sniffing and wiping the snot away from his nose from where it had been dribbling down ever since they got out here. His hands were really red, which was probably not good.

He wasn’t about to complain to Tubbo and Ranboo about being cold, because the both of them actually seemed pretty okay. However, the sooner he got out of here and back into the stupidly big and stupidly warm house, the better.

Hey, at least his hand wasn’t hurting, because it was ice-cold and the pain wasn’t registering as much as it used to.

“I’m serious, you look bad,” Tubbo was staring at him with a calculating gaze and a serious look on his face. “Oh man, did you get bad weed from someone?”

“No, I haven’t had anything,” fuck, Tommy’s voice sounded weird, and even he could notice it. “Just the pen. I feel fine, calm down.”

“Ranboo, look at him,” Tubbo ignored him, catching the monochromatic teen’s attention. “Doesn’t he look off?”

Tommy felt like he was going to squirm as the two analyzed him, with matching furrowed brows and down turned lips.

Now that he thought about it, he did feel a bit off himself. His stomach turned dangerously, and while he was hungry, he didn’t have an appetite. His heart was beating much faster than normal, and everything was kind of sluggish.

“Did you give me something?” Tommy mumbled, knitting his eyebrows together as he stared into his lap, trying to figure out what was wrong. Another shiver wracked his body. “‘Cause that’s really not poggers if you did.”

“No, I didn’t, I swear,” Tubbo replied defensively. “It should’ve been fine. Do vape cartridges go bad? It wasn’t that old, maybe like a month or so.”

“Wait, shit,” Ranboo suddenly said, eyes widening. “No, I don’t think he got roofied, I don’t think the vape was bad. Look at him.”

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he snarked, shivering and rubbing at his forearms to try and get them to warm up. He didn’t understand what they were talking about. Sure he didn’t feel great, but he’d felt worse. It was probably fine.

His head felt like he was trying to swim through honey, the consistency thick as he struggled to process what Ranboo and Tubbo’s were saying.

_Had_ he been roofied?

Tubbo didn’t seem like the guy to roofie a dude he barely knew, but there were all kinds of fucked up people in the world, so Tommy could’ve been wrong.

“You’re wearing sneakers out here?” Tubbo sounded far away, _muffled_. “And _jeans_? Shit, you’re probably freezing and soaking wet. Come on.”

Tommy felt someone grab him underneath his armpits and haul him to his feet, and he weakly hit at whoever it was. “Get offa me.”

“We’re just gonna go back inside, yeah? Calm down,” someone, probably Ranboo based on how deep the voice was, said.

“Fuck you,” Tommy mumbled, but didn’t resist as he was guided towards the house. This was awful. He was in a bad situation here, but at this point he didn’t care. If Tubbo truly had something put into the vape to drug him, at least it wouldn’t be the first time it happened. Honestly, this didn’t feel too much like he’d been roofied. He was just really tired, and cold, and done with everything.

He felt like melting into a puddle on the floor when he was pulled back into that rank smelling house, heat washing over him and so drastically different to how frigid it had been outside.

Tommy could ignore the stench though, because it was so warm in here. Almost too warm. The heat was just on the edge of uncomfortable, just barely enough to make sweat start to prickle on the back of his neck and behind his knees.

He was slowly led up the stairs and back into the same room they’d been in before, the one they had played Mario Kart in for the first few hours of the party.

Tommy was unceremoniously dumped on the bed, and he grumbled in protest, trying to scrub away the exhaustion in his eyes. “This sucks,” he announced sluggishly, letting his arms flop on the comforter.

“Don’t be a drama queen,” he heard Tubbo say, kicking at his legs. “You’re jeans are soaked, you’re gonna have to get them off.”

“Take me to dinner first,” Tommy grumbled, kicking back at him in retaliation. But since his eyes were closed and he wasn’t really trying, nothing landed.

“We’re trying to make sure you don’t get hypothermia,” Ranboo sounded exasperated. “Or at least, trying to make sure it doesn’t get worse. We’ll leave, obviously, but you gotta get into dry clothes.”

Tommy peeled his eyes open and glared at them, but without really feeling mad, just a bit annoyed. “I don’t have any other clothes.”

“I’m stealing my brother’s, I think you guys are similar heights so it should be fine,” Tubbo replied with a shrug, halfway in the door as if he was about to leave. “He has like, a million hoodies and jeans. It’s literally all he wears. He won’t care.”

“Do you like, live here or something?” Tommy mumbled, rubbing his eyes again.

“Yeah, it’s my dad’s house,” Tubbo answered dismissively, leaving the doorway and disappearing from view.

Tommy stared up at the ceiling after that, tracing patterns in the line of the popcorn-esque plaster. This whole situations was _weird_ , but... not really in a bad way. If it was in a bad way, something would’ve tipped him off more.

No, it felt weird because Tubbo and Ranboo met him maybe an hour or two ago. And now he was laying on _presumably_ Tubbo’s bed, and they were giving him clothes to change into just because he got a little wet.

Tommy honestly had no clue why they were so worried about him. He knew his hands and feet being numb was bad, but it wasn’t like he was going to die or something.

“Hey,” someone was nudging him in the leg with their foot, and when Tommy looked up, it was Ranboo. “Take your shoes off. They look completely soaked through, and it’s not gonna do you any good if you keep them on.”

Tommy glanced down at his feet and indeed just as he had noticed earlier, his dirty red sneakers had darkened into a maroon color due to being drenched in melted snow. He faintly remembered hearing his socks being squishy and wet when he was being walked through the house, so they were probably soaked too.

He grunted and pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning over and fumbling with his shoelaces with frozen fingers. Tommy managed to hook his fingernail underneath the lace and pull, undoing the knot and kicking the shoe off. It was quickly followed by the other one, and then his two wet socks, stuffing them in his sneakers.

He mumbled something that supiciously sounded like: “happy now?” before falling back wards back onto the bed with a grunt, eyes slipping closed.

Something poked him in the cheek. “You’re not allowed to go to sleep,” Ranboo said sternly.

“Fuck off,” he swatted at the taller boy’s hand weakly.

“I’m back,” Tubbo called, making Tommy force his eyes open to stare at him. The short brunette was holding a pile of clothes in his hands, balled up for easier carrying. “Ranboo, you know where the blankets are, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“Grab ‘em real fast.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy insisted. “You guys are overreacting.”

“It’s -13 degrees out there and you weren’t dressed properly,” Tubbo retorted, giving him a sharp look. “We were out there for half an hour, and you were sitting in the snow in _jeans_ and _sneakers_ , and your jacket looks like it was made for a preteen.”

“What’s that in American temperature again?” Ranboo asked, sounding like he was about to laugh.

“American temperature?” Tommy snorted.

“Eight degrees Fahrenheit, negative thirteen degrees celsius,” Tubbo clarified. “And it’s a joke, because half the people here are American. We do it with the metric system versus whatever the fuck Americans use too.”

“It’s funny,” Ranboo agreed. “Mostly because I moved here like, less than a year ago, and still get confused whenever someone tells me its eight degrees and really its 46.”

“46 degrees? We’d be boiling,” Tommy sat up and raised an eyebrow at him.

“The British,” Ranboo replied in a faux-solemn tone, making Tubbo snort.

“Anyways,” Tubbo announced, bringing them back on topic. “We’re gonna leave. Change into these, I’m serious.”

“Do what he says,” Ranboo fake-whispers, making a show of “trying” to keep it a secret. “He’s scary when he wants to be.”

Tubbo raised a singular eyebrow, and Tommy was startled into laughing, raising his hands in surrender. There was a tiny ball of panic bundled in his chest, crawling it’s way up his throat and threatening to silence him, but he could stave it off for now.

The brunette nodded approvingly, and shoved Ranboo in front of him and out the door of the bedroom they were in. The door was shut by Tubbo with a soft click, and then Tommy was alone.

A mix of anxiety and obligation was what drove him into peeling off his wet clothes and changing into the ones provided. Anxiety, because he was in a stranger’s house with people he barely knew and most of whom he’d never even met, and the fact that the two people he was trying to trust a little bit were both shitfaced in the snow. Obligation because Tubbo and Ranboo were going through the trouble of taking care of him, it’d be rude to try and refuse their help, especially since they had just met only a couple of hours ago.

His ribs throbbed in protest when he took off his hoodie and t-shirt, but he gritted his teeth and forced through the pain. He was used to doing that, though, so it wasn’t too big of a deal.

The jeans he was given were made for a person who was not a lanky as he was, but he had a belt he’d been wearing with his own pants, so he used it and cinched it as tight as he dared in order to prevent them from falling down. The hoodie provided was white with obnoxiously bright green accents like a baseball shirt, but at least it was warm and soft.

He’s still cold though.

And that’s why, almost without noticing, he steals one of the blankets off of the bed he was sitting on and wraps it around himself, rubbing his hands together to try and get some feeling back into his fingertips.

The compression bandages around his injured wrist were soaked. Tommy had no clue how the hell snow managed to get underneath his coat and his hoodie to the bandages, but it did.

They would have to come off, because they sure weren’t doing him any favors as they were, but he didn’t feel like trying right that moment.

There’s a knock on the door a couple seconds later. “Hey big man, you done?”

He hums in response, remembering his knife and the vape that were still in the pocket of his wet hoodie. He fished them out and stuffed them in his new hoodie pocket just as Tubbo came in, holding a steaming mug.

“Sorry for getting your bed wet,” Tommy was rubbing his arms again, shivering as his body tried to warm up.

“I’ll live,” Tubbo shrugged, passing him the mug. Even though Tommy knew it couldn’t be that hot, because Tubbo had been holding it just fine, the porcelain burned his hands like an inferno. It didn’t hurt, though. It was just really hot.

It looked like coffee at first glance, but smelled too sweet. An experimental sip revealed it to be _very_ sweet, and hot enough to burn his tongue. It tasted familiar...

Hot chocolate. How long had it been since he had hot chocolate? Definitely one of his earliest foster homes, before he started being considered a problem child.

“I wasn’t sure how many I should grab,” Ranboo said from the doorway, making Tommy look up. The taller boy was carrying a massive wad of fluffy blankets balled together. His face was hidden by the bundle of fabric. “I took four, figured that’d be enough.”

“Four’s plenty,” Tubbo agreed, standing up and grabbing some of the blankets from Ranboo. “Two for Tommy, since he’s fucking freezing, and me and you can each get one.”

“I’m fine,” Tommy protested, even though all three of them knew that those two words were absolute bullshit. He was still visibly shivering, huddled beneath the blanket he’d stolen from Tubbo’s bed.

“Mhm,” Ranboo hummed skeptically, raising an eyebrow at him. “Take them anyway.”

Tommy didn’t complain as two more blankets were thrown over him, silently grateful for them. He’d met Ranboo and Tubbo maybe an hour or two ago, and they were being so nice. Not even suspicious-nice like Phil and his massive house. Genuinely nice, as if they actually liked him.

“Mario Kart?” Tubbo offered, holding up a controller in question as he turned on the T.V.

Tommy grinned. “If you’re ready to get your ass kicked, again.”

“We’ll see about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the SAT fucking sucks y’all

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @Rose12610  
> Tumblr: @alwaysananxiousmess
> 
> Brain: you should finish your other fics before starting another one  
> Me: haha watch me chrimis foster au go brrrrrrrr


End file.
